Murtagh stared down at Rune, tucked in the Shade boy's arms. She was smiling faintly, just like that time—so long ago—that was burned in Murtagh's memory forever. Just by looking at her, Murtagh could tell she had changed. She wasn't that helpless creature that he had known.

He touched her shoulder. "Letta slytha, Rune-vira," he whispered.

She opened her eyes slowly. When she saw him, her eyes widened. A joyous grin spread over her face.

Rune untangled herself from Súndavar's arms, and Murtagh realized she was wearing the boy's tunic, minus the belt. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, before standing up.

She was hugging Murtagh before he could say anything. Murtagh wrapped his arms tightly around her, as if afraid to ever let go again. At the same time, he felt awful. How could he accept her joy at seeing him again when he was going to betray her?

She stepped back for him inspect her. The rough tunic fell loosely around her curves. Her bare legs had tanned, and she had cut her hair. He fingered a strand of it.

"Do you like it?" she asked.

"Aye," he affirmed, pulling her back towards him. "I missed you so much."

"Have I changed?" Rune asked softly, looking up at him.

"You have," Murtagh whispered. "I'm not sure if I see my dove anymore, or a mighty thornessa."

Rune giggled. Behind them, the boy stirred.

"Súndavar might awaken," she said. "Perhaps you'd like to go to the kitchens?"

Murtagh sighed, but nodded. "Yes, dove."

She slipped her hand into his, leading him out the door and down the hall. They reached the kitchens, and Rune sat down at a table. It was dark.

Murtagh smiled, sliding in next to her on the bench. "You've grown up."

"I have. Do you mind all that much?"

He laughed, pressing his lips to her forehead. "Not at all. I think I like you better this way."

Rune was silent for a moment.

"So what's the deal with that boy in your chambers?" Murtagh asked softly.

"Who? Oh, Súndavar. Well, he's a friend of mine."

"Is that all?"

"We haven't…you know. But he wants to, I think."

"And you?"

"I don't think I want that," she said flatly. She turned away.

"What about your…sireship? Has anyone found out about you?"

"Found out that I'm the daughter of the devil, you mean?" she hissed, fire burning in her eyes.

Murtagh was surprised at her ferocity. She had never hated Galbatorix before. Thought him restrictive, yes. But hated? Murtagh hadn't thought she could hate anything. She was too good.

"Found out that you are a princess," he amended.

"I told Angela," she admitted to him. "Arya guessed."

"And Eragon?"

Rune shook her head. "He doesn't know. Murtagh?"

"Hmm?"

"Did my father release you from bond to him? Is that why you're here? That doesn't sound like him."

"No. He didn't." Murtagh's heart quickened, his spirits dropped. As soon as Rune found out why he was there, this wonderful familiarity would end. He would be her enemy. Murtagh wished he was anywhere but here. Dead even. Just not here.

"Then did he allow you to come and see me?" she asked. Her voice was pleading, as if trying and failing to find a reason for his presence, but unable to accept his treachery.

"No. Rune, I—"

She shook her head, eyes wide. She got up. "You…you…" she breathed.

"If I could change the reason I am here, I would," Murtagh whispered.

"I…I…" she looked at herself in disbelief. "I fell for it. For you. For this stupid act!" she spit. Turning on her heels, Rune ran.

"Letta!" Murtagh said, hating himself for it. She stopped running, frozen in place.

Angela! Arya! Eragon! Súndavar! Saphira! The words echoed through Murtagh's mind. Rune repeated them, louder. Her mind's screaming made his head hurt and his heart ache.

At first, no one responded. Then, both Arya and Angela appeared through the open doors.

"Letta!" Murtagh called again, freezing them in place as well. Arya's face was contorted in rage.

Murtagh walked up to Arya, hitting her in the back of the neck. She couldn't move to block the blow. She collapsed to the floor, out cold.

After repeating the process on the herbalist, Murtagh approached Rune. Her eyes burned hatefully.

"It's time to come home, dove," he said. Not able to bear hitting her, he squeezed a nerve in the back of her neck, catching her and laying her on the floor gently.

Drawing his bow, Murtagh notched an arrow into it. Tossing a piece of parchment into the air, he made his shot. The parchment was pinned neatly to the wall.

Come, Thorn, Murtagh thought. It is time.

Ancient Language:

Letta slytha: stop sleeping

Thornessa: snake

vira: feminine honorific for a close friend